She could write an entry for her family in the slam book, make sure they didn’t find out.
She pushed that thought immediately out of her mind.
The Cowans’ house was two stories with a three-car garage. Anna stood on the sidewalk staring at the darkened windows, trying to determine which one was Sandra’s. This was the part of her plan that was flawed. If she’d had a cell phone, she could have called the cheerleader and told her to come out. If it was earlier in the evening, she could have simply rung the doorbell. But as it was, the best idea she could come up with was to throw rocks at Sandra’s window until she opened it.
She was about ready to sneak around the side of the house and check out the back when a car came up the street. Anna feigned casualness as she stood on the sidewalk, waiting for the vehicle to pass by.
But it didn’t.
It pulled into the Cowans’ driveway, triggering motion-sensitive lights that illuminated the entire front yard. Seconds after stopping, the car’s doors flew open.
“Not another word out of you, young lady,” her mom said angrily, getting out.
A beaten Sandra emerged from the backseat, saying nothing.
The prostitution arrest! Anna had forgotten all about it. She watched from the shadows as Sandra’s briefcase-carrying dad and perfectly coiffed mom herded her toward the main door. It must have taken her parents this long to bail her out of jail.
Anna’s plans were all screwed up. There was no way she’d be able to do what she had planned, so she quickly opened the slam book to Sandra’s page and under the cheerleader’s name and stats wrote: She is a rat.
It was something that had always been true metaphorically, but that was not how she meant the phrase this time. And that was not how the slam book took it.
The change happened instantaneously. Sandra’s pretty face pushed forward, suddenly covered in fur, whiskers twitching above huge front teeth. Still in her cheerleader outfit, she dropped to all fours on arms and legs that were thin, hairy and clawed.
Mrs. Cowan screamed to wake the dead. Mr. Cowan tried to grab his madly scrambling rat daughter, crying, “Oh my God! Oh my God!”
Anna watched for a second from the sidewalk.
Then ran home as fast as she could.
****
It had been a long hard night. She had not slept at all but had written and crossed out, written and crossed out, until she heard her father’s alarm clock ring at five. Natalie Tyron had been given the head of a cow, then the head of a dog, then her own head back. Bonnie Behar had been killed in a bathtub accident then brought back to life. Lynn Fitzgerald, perhaps the prettiest girl at St. Mary’s, had been hideously deformed before her looks had been restored. Anna had liked punishing those who had punished her, and the feeling of revenge had been sweet. She had even, during one brief, crazy, power-mad moment, considered writing in Jenny’s name. Jenny may have been her best friend and may have written nice comments about her in the slam book from Sister Caroline’s class, but Jenny was also the one who had handed her the book. She had known what Anna would see; maybe she’d even wanted her to see it.
Anna had forcefully and immediately dismissed the idea of doing anything to Jenny, shocked and suddenly scared by the fact that her mind had even conceived of such a notion.
She thought of that ragged horrific saint in the portrait at the front of the classroom, then thought about the gentle, loving Jesus she learned about in chapel.
This morning, she had finished writing one comment for each person, and had then hidden the slam book in the bottom drawer of her dresser.
And that was where it would stay.
Before class, Anna went into the chapel and prayed, offering her thanks and love to that benign martyr above the altar, and when she reentered the school hallway, she was greeted with salutations of “Hi!” and “Hello, Anna!” from students who had never before spoken to her. She was given three slam books to write in, and when she looked at her own pages, they were filled with complimentary comments.
She was popular.
Jenny met her outside Sister Caroline’s room just before the bell rang. “What is going on?” her friend said wonderingly. “Everyone’s being so…nice.”
Anna laughed. “It’s like we died and went to heaven.”
“I know. Everything seems so different today.”
“Except us.”
“Except us.”
They walked into class, taking their seats. Sister Caroline began talking, but Anna didn’t listen. Instead, she stared at the frightening visage of St. Millard at the front of the room. The twisted face was staring down at her with a mixture of hate and disgust, its demonic eyes boring into hers.
She met the gaze, held it.
Then triumphantly looked away.
LAST RODEO
ON THE CIRCUIT
(1986)
The car began making noises just after Blythe.
Joni, always on the alert for engine trouble after the experience they’d had on their last trip, immediately turned down the radio. “What’s that?” she asked.
“What?”
“That noise. Listen.”
Ken shook his head. “I don’t hear anything.”
Joni did not move. She sat listening to the car. There was an unfamiliar bump from somewhere beneath their seat. “There,” she said. “Did you hear that?”
Ken laughed. “It’s nothing. Crummy Arizona roads. You know how bad the highways are in this state.”
“It’s something,” she said.
Fifty miles later, it was obvious that it was something. The bumps from beneath their seat came at regular intervals now, and there was a hideous grinding noise each time Ken put on the brakes. They had turned the radio off several miles back, and the air conditioner, hoping that by listening attentively to the noise and not putting any unnecessary drain on the car’s power they could somehow make it to Phoenix before the vehicle broke down entirely.
No such luck.
The car’s speed fell to just above thirty miles an hour, and by the time they saw what looked like an old gas station down a dirt road far off to the right, the car was limping along at a jogger’s pace, even though Ken had the gas pedal floored.
“I hope it’s nothing bad,” Joni said.
Ken snorted. “Are you serious? Out here? You know damn well that no matter what it is, they’re going to gouge us for all we’re worth.”
“Well, maybe they have a phone. We can call to Phoenix and get the car towed.”
“A hundred miles? It’ll cost just as much, if not more.” He shook his head. “We’re screwed.”
They pulled to a stop in front of the gas station, the braking tires kicking up a cloud of dust. There was a faded Enco sign above the old brick building and the gas pumps were boarded up, but the doorway of the garage was wide open. In back of the building, surrounded by a rickety chain-link fence, was a yard filled with dozens of dead cars. Many of the vehicles were rusting, but a surprising number of them were fairly new and still sported decent paint jobs. Ken looked at his wife. “Popular place to break down,” he said drily.
A man emerged from the blackness of the garage. He was grossly overweight and was wearing ripped, faded Levi’s and a greasy t-shirt which did not quite cover his huge gut. The hot desert sun glinted wetly off his bald sweating head. Behind the man, a skinny cowering dog moved tentatively out into the sunlight.
Ken got out of the car as the man approached. “Hey,” he said. “How’s it going?”
The man smiled, revealing rotted tobacco-stained teeth. “Whatc’n I do for you?”
Ken told him what had happened, trying to describe the sequence of noises in detail. He kept his tone light, as if by minimizing his concern he could somehow minimize the problem.
The man nodded after he had finished. “Sounds like brakes and bearings to me,” he said. “But I’d have to take a look to make sure.”
“What would it cost if that was it?” Ken asked.
&n
bsp; The man spit. “Depends on which way you want to go. If you wanted new parts, I’d have to order ’em. That’d take a day or so, cost you maybe a hundred parts, a hundred-and-fifty labor. Used parts, I have them out back. That’d cost you somewhere between twenty and forty bucks, a hundred-and-fifty labor. That’s as cheap a price as you’ll find anywhere.”
Ken nodded. “All right, check it out.”
The man drove the car into the garage. He put it up on ramps and told Joni and Ken to make themselves at home. “This’ll take me about an hour or so,” he said. “You two just look around, do what you want. There’s a Coke machine in the office if you get thirsty.”
Ken followed Joni slowly around the building. The place was out in the middle of nowhere. Although they had seen the gas station from the highway, the highway was not visible from where they stood. They appeared to be alone in the desert.
“How can anyone make a living out here?” Joni wondered.
Ken shrugged. “There’s lots of cars out there.”
They walked around the corner to the rear of the gas station and stopped. In front of them, adjacent to the lot of wrecked and broken automobiles, was an elaborate series of wire cages stretching back for perhaps a quarter of a mile. The cages were of all shapes and sizes, many of them stacked one upon the other. Next to the cages was a large garden, and on the other side of the garden a makeshift corral.
Joni walked up to the first cage and peeked in. Empty. She moved on to the next cage, this one quite a bit bigger. Inside, lying on the hard wire floor, was an emaciated calf.
“My God,” Joni breathed, staring at the sickly animal. She looked up at Ken. “This is inhuman.”
In the next cage was a midget horse with a broken leg. The leg had not been set, and the horse was laying down, obviously in agony.
“What’s that man’s name?” Joni asked, her mouth set in grim determination. “I’m going to report him. He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this.”
“Roscoe,” Ken said. “Gil Roscoe.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “But shut up about it until we’re gone. We need our car fixed.”
“Hey, you! Get away from there!”
Joni looked at Ken at the sound of the man’s voice. They both moved away from the cages. “Sorry,” Ken said. “We didn’t know it was off limits.”
The man wiped his bald head with a handkerchief. “Well, it is. Come on back here.”
They followed him around to the front of the building. Joni noticed that an old red pickup truck was now parked next to the broken gas pumps. The truck had not been there before, and neither of them had heard anyone pull up.
“It’s your brakes and bearings,” the man said, walking into the garage. “Just like I thought. You wanna go for new or used parts?”
“Used,” Ken said.
“All right, then. I’ll see what I can find.”
Ken cleared his throat. “You do take Visa, don’t you?”
The man stared at him. “No.” His eyes were hard. “Cash only.”
Joni looked at her husband, signaling with her eyes that she had no money either.
“How about a personal check?” Ken asked.
The man shook his head. “Cash only.” He smiled, and Joni shivered. “Looks like we’ll have to figure out some other means of payment,” he said.
It was then that she noticed the four dwarves getting out of the truck.
****
“Maybe we should call the police,” Teena said. “It’s not like them to be late like this.
You know Joni always calls if something’s wrong, if they’re going to be late.”
Rob took his receipt and credit card from the gas station attendant, smiling and nodding at the man. He turned to Teena. “Give it a rest. Jesus. They said they’d meet us either in Scottsdale or Las Vegas. Wait ’til we see if they’re in Vegas first before you start panicking.”
“But Joni would have left word.”
“Obviously she didn’t. Maybe they were too busy. Maybe they decided to skip Arizona altogether. God, can’t you just enjoy your vacation without making everything into a big problem?”
They pulled out of the gas station and onto the highway, driving silently for over an hour, neither of them speaking. The forests of northern Arizona gave way to dry brush and high desert.
“Where do you want to stay tonight?” Rob asked. “Do you want to stop somewhere, or do you want to drive all the way through?” Teena did not answer.
“Fine. Then we’ll stay in Sheep Springs.”
They drove for several minutes in silence. “What’s in Sheep Springs?” Teena asked finally.
Rob smiled. “The guy at the gas station said it’s the last rodeo on the circuit. We happen to be going through at just the right time.”
“I don’t like rodeos,” Teena said, frowning. “I don’t like the way they treat those animals.”
“You’ve never been to a rodeo.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Well, this one’s different,” Rob said. “This is just for fun. It doesn’t count for anything. They just let off a little steam, have a good time.”
“Great,” Teena muttered. “A bunch of drunk rednecks.”
They pulled into Sheep Springs in the early afternoon and checked into a motel. It was the only room they had available. “You’re lucky you found a room at all,” the desk clerk told them. “This is rodeo weekend.”
Indeed, the whole town was talking about the rodeo. In the stores they visited, it seemed to be the only topic of conversation. The gas stations were filled with pickup trucks and horse trailers. People were already starting to file into the rodeo arena, though the event wasn’t set to start for several hours.
The excitement was catching, and by late afternoon, even Teena decided that she wanted to go. Rob bought them two advance tickets.
After dinner, they followed the crowd to the arena. The motel was only a block and a half away, so they walked. Around them, people were talking and laughing excitedly.
“Maybe we should try calling their hotel in Las Vegas,” Teena suggested. “Just to see if they’re there.”
“We’ll be there tomorrow,” Rob told her. “Jesus. Try to enjoy yourself for once, okay?”
“They left over two weeks ago, and we haven’t heard from them since.”
“Shut up for a while.”
They walked into the arena, not speaking, the only silent members of the excited crowd.
They held each others’ hands not out of choice but out of necessity, not wanting to get lost in the rush.
The arena was big, much bigger than would have been expected from a town of this size.
The wooden grandstands were three stories high, and in back of the grandstands were snack and concession booths, selling beer, soft drinks, hot dogs, hamburgers and tacos.
Rob and Teena each bought a beer and climbed the wooden steps to their seats. Next to them, two cowboys were discussing a rodeo they’d competed in last week in Prescott.
A half-hour later, the lights in the arena snapped on and there was a loud hum from the PA system as microphones were connected.
“Well, we finally made it,” said the announcer with a pronounced southwestern drawl. His voice echoed throughout the arena. “Last rodeo on the circuit!”
There was a huge cheer from the audience.
The announcer read off a list of names, people who had contributed time and money to the rodeo, people who needed to be thanked. “We’d also like to thank all the cowboys who rode this year,” the announcer said, and there was a big cheer. “This is our way of paying you back for all the pleasure you’ve given us this season. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the fiftieth annual Sheep Springs rodeo!”
A chute opened, a spotlight trained on the swinging gate, and Teena gasped.
A midget came out, riding on the back of a naked man.
Teena’s hand found Rob’s and held it tight. She stared as the naked man, his uncombed hair flying wildly, h
is body caked with dirt and mud, ran around the arena on all fours, trying to buck the midget off. The midget held onto the man’s hair with one hand, his other hand raised to the sky. The spurs on his tiny boots dug into the sides of the bucking man’s stomach, and twin trickles of blood fell onto the arena dirt.
The crowd was laughing uproariously. The two cowboys seated next to them were rocking back and forth, wiping tears of laughter from their eyes.
Teena stared at Rob. His face was white with shock. It looked as though he were about to be sick.
The midget jumped off, and two other small men, riding miniature horses, forced the dirty bucking man through a gate on the other side of the arena.
“A score of two-twelve!” the announcer said. “Not bad!”
The crowd was laughing and cheering wildly.
Teena felt someone tap her shoulder. She swiveled instantly around. An elderly woman smiled at her, holding forth a pair of binoculars. “Do you want to try these?” she asked kindly. “You can see better.”
Numbly, Teena accepted the binoculars. She held them to her eyes. Another raggedy filthy man came bucking naked out of chute number two.
Ken.
The gorge rose in her throat, and she had to force herself to keep it down. Silently, she handed the binoculars to Rob, who took them and held them in front of his eyes. He dropped them almost immediately, and they fell into his lap.
Teena closed her eyes. Even above the roar of the crowd, she could hear the agonized screams of pain as the midget shoved his spurs into Ken’s side. She opened her eyes. Ken was bucking near their section of the arena. His mouth was opened wide in a scream of tortured agony. Blood was dripping down his side. Large welts and bruises covered his body.
The midget yanked hard on his hair, and both of them fell over. Ken tried to stand on his two feet, but the midget horseman pushed him down on all fours and herded him out the exit gate.
Teena felt a tap on her shoulder. “Can I have my binoculars back?” the old lady asked.
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